I.
Once, there was a man called Ernest
Who gave my life much salt and zest.
But one fine day he up and left me
Stranded, to sail the open sea.
II.
Not as a sailor to explore
The world in all directions four.
Dear God! Who would think that?!
As passenger he went, a pampered cat.
III.
Towards fair Athens he made straight
His wedding there to celebrate.
The maiden he had planned to wed
In Athens had been born and bred.
IV.
Her temperament, quite unlike mine,
Refused to burn, was cool and fine.
Her love for Ernest was devout,
Tenaciously she had held out.
V.
Without a quiver, for seven years,
Abstaining from all looks and leers,
With other men she remained chaste,
And therefore, drawn to sail in haste,
VI.
To claim such virtues incarnate
Did Ernest join his perfect mate.
Richard and I went to Switzerland,
Where, as you know, the views are grand.
VII.
And Richard had much sympathy
With all my plight and consoled me.
He also had the money handy
To soothe my woes as if with candy.
VIII.
Lake Lugano, shimmering in blue,
Brought out my longing, oh so true.
As lilacs brimmed with nightingales,
My deep-dark grief went off the scales.
IX.
I threw myself on the cold tile,
And howled for Ernest all the while.
And while for him I called by name
Good Richard with his money came,
X.
And sympathy, the darling Dear!
He was an angel, and without fear.
He was my pillar, staff, and rudder.
He was as good as if my brother.
XI.
What luck to have the dear at hand
He was as good as a husband.
With his resources I went mile on mile
To catch my Ernest in great style
XII.
He was in Dresden, to shop around
For loans to keep him safe and sound.
You may well know: he could not save;
All his money to cabs he gave,
XIII.
So not to tarnish in his fine soul,
or jeopardize the poet's goal.
Barely grown up and in long pants,
From Saxony came helping hands.
XIV.
But no, I'm wrong, from Mainz it came.
Ernest had nothing, what a shame!
Even to wed his fiancee
He had to borrow, had to repay.
XV.
Richard had once befriended him,
Had read his play, so dark and grim:
"Strife for Sweetness" it was named,
And no great sense from it he claimed.
XVI.
I mean Richard. Ernest -- oh dear...
But this is neither there nor here.
I am not here to judge of this,
But to lament evaporated bliss.
XVII.
And anyway, all poetry-making
Fails to smooth out life's undertaking.
The poet offers loud lament
About emotions he has spent.
XVIII.
I'm telling it without a frill:
You could push Ernest all you will,
With laurels, honours, and acclaim --
You would be begging all in vain.
XIX.
Sorely your target you would miss,
At his fine work I'd roundly hiss.
I'm telling you what is at hand:
All of his stuff I cannot stand.
XX.
But way back then, let me confess,
Though shame ignite my face in much distress,
If he had rhymed as well as matron ...
What was her name? You all were patron
XXI.
Of Natalie's; you all have read her;
Or like Karl May's old Shatter-chatter --
Had Ernest shared with these success,
I really could not have cared less.
XXII.
For me, it simply was no issue,
Like pants and tops, mismatched in tissue.
I did not let it in my mind,
I was aloof, was disinclined.
XXIII.
Ernest was spouting moonshine-splendid tones
At best, I was suspicious of his poems.
What could I make of this insipid bran?
He was my Thor, the hottest kind of man.
XXIV.
When his sun-like eyes shone into mine
I had to suckle from his lips divine.
Junkies with their bottle I'd resemble.
With our embrace, we set ourselves atremble.
XXV.
I was a beast, a tube alive.
Tightly against his bulge I'd strive.
Exultantly he sobbed like poets do,
He at long last surrendered, too.
XXVI.
This was, in tune with cosmic laws,
Why I kept running to his claws.
And why he came to me, furtive and coy,
His mind all full of lust and sensual joy.
XXVII.
Yet, pureness he did so desire,
His precious poetry not to bemire.
Still I must berate him to this day:
His Athen-sylph with him would never lay.
XXVIII.
Who seven years can bear to wait
Most surely needs no man to mate.
Seven full years in a chaste veil
Degrades true love into a phantom pale.
XXIX.
She could be happy with sunshine
And phantom-lovers, Ernst was mine.
I had him conquered by my side,
Gladly for him I would have died.
XXX.
For him, my life I'd give in loving folly,
More readily than would his Athens Polly.
Once Ernest, in the heat of rage,
When poems would not flow upon his page,
XXXI.
He punched me on the kisser - oh!
And then for the police he'd crow.
That's why I went with Richard travelling
And left dear Ernst to his unravelling
XXXII.
And to his bride of pale moonlight
......................all alone and out of sight.

*The original German poem about Ernst Hardt
was likely composed in Berlin during the winter
of 1923/24. Freytag-Loringhoven (FrL) had returned
there from New York at a most unfortunate time,
when post W.W.I inflation had reached its peak
so that American painter Marsden Hartley, for
instance, chose to write letters on large Billions-of-Mark
denomination bills because they were cheaper than
ordinary stationery.
Else had been in voluntary exile for some twelve
years, having sailed in July 1910 to rejoin her
companion Felix Paul Greve in Pittsburgh, where
she was arrested
in September for cross-dressing & smoking
in public. Greve had left Berlin with an alleged
suicide in July 1909, and after he left near Sparta,
Kentucky in 1911, he was to become the Canadian
author Frederick Philip Grove in 1912. In both
his lives he used to sign with his plain initials
"FPG"
[seen here in a 1946 monogram designed by Else's
former husband August Endell around 1900].
As she had done from America, Else continued to
write many blackmail and extortion letters from
Berlin to old and new friends [or foes] like Ernst
Hardt and August Endell, to members of the illustrious
Freytag-Loringhoven family, or to famous writers
like André Gide [attested] and Bernard
Shaw [undocumented so far] both of whom were virtually
unknown to her.

The original German poems about Ernst Hardt &
August Endell presented here were discovered in
the Freytag-Loringhoven Collection at the University
of Maryland, College Park, in April 1991.
They were first published as an appendix to Gaby
Divay's article
"Abrechnung und Aufarbeitung im Gedicht:
Else von Freytag-Loringhoven über drei Männer
(Ernst Hardt, August Endell, Felix Paul Greve)"
in the journal Trans-Lit , SCALG VII/1,
1998, 24-37. An English version of this text will
be provided in the future.

** Both
of the satirical Freytag-Loringhoven poems e-published
here in bilingual form were originally translated
by Gaby Divay for Carol Shields in March 1998.
Gaby's rough rhymes would have forever remained
unsuitable for public consumption without Jan
Horner's expert poetic skills. The Hardt poem
was much improved during a retreat in November
2000, the Endell one in June & July 2001.